


I Hate Baskets

by hannigramcracker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Vomiting, gmm 1221.1, induced vomiting, puke without plot, trindad scorpion pepper challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker
Summary: Rhett suffers after eating the Trinidad scorpion pepper. Link, through his own suffering, aids him the best he can.





	I Hate Baskets

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome BACK to my bullshit. Hi, how are ya? 
> 
>  
> 
> This is inspired by episode 183 of Ear Biscuits, where our boys discuss forcing themselves to vomit after eating the scorpion pepper in season 12. So ofc I sat and watched this episode, and the More specifically, on loop for a bit and then banged this whole fic out in one day. Here we are, enjoy.

The cameras stopped rolling, but Rhett didn’t move. Face pressed against the rough fabric of a pillow that wasn’t meant to be laid on, curled up on the tiniest couch known to man, Rhett squirmed a bit closer to the cushions. His legs were starting to get uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the literal  _ fire  _ in his stomach. He wanted to move, but movement felt like the enemy. He was panting, hard, and on each exhale he could feel the hot embers of semi-digested spice being fanned back into flame. 

 

Link was talking, moving in the foreground, but the only thing Rhett was sure of was that they were done for the day, that he was able to suffer in miserable peace for as long as it took for this to wear off. His stomach cramped again, another in a series of tumultuous pain. Rhett clenched his eyes shut so hard bursts of static began to appear. A quiet groan escaped his lips along with a small burp. A bubble of gas that burned its way up his esophagus and made Rhett almost want to claw at his own chest. He couldn’t though, one hand was pressed firmly against his lower stomach and the other was trapped between his thighs. He thought it was keeping him stable, he thought if he moved it he would become completely untethered. 

 

Rhett was starting to feel dizzy. His mouth was watering again, thick spit that tasted like tepid nothing, yet still held an echo of the pepper that was tormenting him. He was sweating, he was absolutely sure it was staining his dark blue shirt, up his back and under his arms. He could feel it beading on his forehead, dripping down to his eyes, past them, getting caught in his beard. He groaned again, this time louder, more drawn out. 

 

He really, truly was dying. This was it. Someone tell Jessie he loved her. 

 

_ “Gosh -”  _ Rhett gasped out, the hand on his stomach clawing, digging blunt fingernails into the thin material of his shirt. 

 

“Cameras are off, brother. No need to -  _ ahn -  _ filter.” Link’s voice was close, and was just as dripping in agony as Rhett’s was. 

 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Rhett half-shouted through gritted teeth. He swallowed torturously one, twice. Link started to laugh at his exclamation but he was cut off by a deep groan of his own. 

 

“You doin’ alright?” He still asked. Rhett wanted to open his eyes to see where Link actually was, but he couldn’t bring himself to even crack them. He feared the lights on the set would be his undoing, would set the very fragile balance he had stuck off kilter. 

 

“No. I’m really  _ ngh- _ not.” Rhett barely moved his mouth to answer Link. He could feel his breathing picking up speed again, and despite how painful it was, it was still not even a fraction of the tight gripping agony in his gut. “You?” 

 

Link didn’t answer right away and Rhett almost opened his eyes to check on him. “It’s really starting to hurt, man.” 

Rhett nodded in sympathy and immediately regretting moving his head in any way. Dizziness was starting to settle in and he belched a little every other moment. It stung worse and worse each time. Rhett was almost lost in his own despair when Link spoke again. 

 

“Brother…” he trailed off and Rhett opened his eyes, feeling dry and bloodshot, when Link didn’t finish his statement. 

 

Link was sitting huddled on the floor next to the couch, his trash can within arms reach, discarded carton of ice cream with the spoon sticking out not far from that. He had taken his glasses off and was pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing only through his nose. Rhett could hear every exhale, every miserable sniff. He was rubbing a small circle against his own middle, and Rhett could swear he could see it distending, wondered distantly what his own stomach looked like. 

 

“I think I’m gonna have to throw this up, man.” Link’s breath was labored, Rhett watched his jaw tense before he swallowed deeply. “You oughta try, might make you feel better.” 

 

“I can’t. I can’t just puke.” 

 

“I think it’ll be better than having it come out the other way.” Link whispered, almost like he was talking to himself rather than Rhett. 

 

Rhett knew he was right, but he could barely imagine what sour stomach acid would do to the sting and burn of a chewed up pepper. Rhett whined just thinking about it. Link echoed the sentiment, but Rhett felt almost too delirious to recognize or respond. He was starting to feel bubbles trapped in his chest, and instead of coming out like burps as he had thought they would, his throat contracted in a spasm and a tight, high hiccup burst forth. 

 

Once one breached his mouth, it was a lost cause to try and stop them. The contractions of his throat forced him to sit up, cover his mouth with a sweaty palm and try to stop his body from jarring with every breath. Rhett slammed his eyes shut again, but Link was right there this time. His hands were settled on the tops of his thighs, likely the only place he could reach. 

 

“Just take a deep breath, Rhett. Hold it. They’ll go away.” Link was coaching him with a voice as hoarse as fresh gravel on a country road. 

 

And Rhett tried, he really did. He took the biggest breath he could, and even though it stung he held it, burning in his lungs. He tried to count to ten before exhaling but another hiccup assaulted him and he had to start all over. It was torture, each hiccup threatening to turn into gag that Rhett knew would be nothing but fruitless and painful. 

 

He couldn’t  _ just  _ throw up. He knew that about himself. And he didn’t want to have to think about the other options. He just wanted this horrific thing  _ out  _ of him. 

 

He swore he was never going to eat another pepper like this  _ again.  _ And much unlike all the times in college he’d spent in front of a toilet vowing to never drink again, this time he meant it. 

 

He tried to hold his breath again, Link still quietly coaxing him. Rhett felt endlessly guilty. He knew Link was feeling this too, if only by the way his hand was still clutching against the top of his abdomen, searching for purchase. 

 

Rhett held his breath until tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and let it out in a puff. A breathy moan followed, but the hiccups were gone. He could still feel his stomach bubbling, dangerously full, but at least his diaphragm was done convulsing. 

 

“There ya go, brother. Now drink some so they stay away.” Link instructed, holding out the goblet of milk to Rhett. He really didn’t want to drink it, didn’t want to put any more dairy in his already messed up system, but he figured if it gave him some relief right now he could deal with the consequences later. 

 

Hopefully much later, he thought as he gulped down a few mouthfuls. He could feel the milk settling in his stomach, tried not to imagine it sizzling and nearly curdling with the heat of what was already there. It sank like a liquid rock and he could almost feel it filling him even fuller. Rhett moaned, again, and hated himself and everyone around him for the hundredth time that day. 

 

His toes curled in his shoes and a bright, cold sweat burst across his hairline and sent a shiver down his spine. Rhett lurched forward with a gag, cupping one hand under his chin and reaching for his trash can with the other. The gag was tragically barren, as Rhett knew it would be, but  _ god  _ it hurt. The ghost of spiciness came up with it and made him start drooling anew. He spat into the trash can roughly, strings of thick spit hanging from his lips once more. 

 

“You just gotta let it out, brother.” Link said, his voice still quiet.

 

Rhett looked over to him and could see sweat beading across his forehead as well. He was leaning against the front of the couch, hanging his head back, eyes closed to the filming lights that had been left on. 

 

“I  _ can’t,  _ man. It just won’t come up for me. I can’t -” Rhett belched again, a harsh retch at the end of it. But still, nothing came up, not even a bit of stomach acid. A sound left his lips that could only be described as a broken sob, dryer than his heaves. “I can’t.” 

 

Rhett was sitting hunched over his bin, legs stretched on either side of it, shoulders taut and lower back aching. This was pure misery. He knew he was getting a glimpse of what it would be if he went to hell when he died. His nose was starting to run and every sharp sniffle threw sparks into his sinuses. He spat around another burp, thin and heady this time, but still just as painful. He breathed out in a nauseous puff and wished he  _ could  _ puke so this would be over. It wasn’t that he was being stubborn when Link suggested he vomit, it was that he truthfully and literally  _ could not.  _ There was just something about his stomach, no matter how vile the things inside it were, it just wasn’t in his makeup to vomit. His stomach would tense and heave and gurgle and cramp, but nothing would ever come of it except him being laid up with an awful stomach ache for sometimes days on end. 

 

But the thought of having to deal with  _ this  _ for days was enough to bring fresh tears to his eyes. He wanted to recover from this as soon as he could, but he just had no idea what to do. He was starting to feel desperate, panicked. 

 

Next to him, Link gagged loudly and suddenly, dipping his head inside his own bin. Rhett reached a hand to him, gripping one of his shoulders in what he hoped was a gesture of comfort. He gagged again, a guttural sound that made Rhett’s own stomach convulse, tongue curling around an empty gag. Rhett shoved his wrist against his lips, driving them into his teeth as Link retched once more. 

 

Link straightened, gasping. His breaths were short pants and Rhett could almost see the nausea etching into his features. 

 

“N-nothin’ came up.” Link whimpered, words that Rhett was no stranger to hearing. Usually they made him laugh, smile at least at Link’s misfortune, but today he was too far gone. Literally lost to sea in the same boat as Link. Rhett squeezed his shoulder a bit harder, rubbing his thumb back and forth just slightly.  

 

Rhett watched as Link tensed his jaw shut, muscles bunching beneath the skin, breathing through his nose with resolve. He rocked back and forth a bit, almost like he was trying to work himself up to something. He rubbed his fingers into his eyes with such a force that Rhett was concerned for a moment, before he pulled them back with a small grunt. 

 

“I can’t do this anymore, man. I gotta get it out. I’m gonna have to make myself.” Link said, speaking rapidly and low. His voice sounded almost husky and Rhett’s mind was so blunt and dulled that it took him a few long moments to understand what Link was saying. 

 

He still hadn’t fully realized what was going on before Link reached a hand to his mouth and slipped one spidery finger into his mouth. Rhett gripped tighter to Link’s shoulder, his name dying on his lips when Link leaned forward and spit loudly. It was nothing but saliva but he went back in once more, middle finger disappearing behind his lips. Link leaned his head down, drool collected and sliding from his mouth, and he pushed his hand back once more. Another loud gag filled the air and Rhett squirmed uncomfortably. 

 

The sight of Link with his fingers down his throat made him wish he could do the same, made his sour stomach flip inside him. Link bucked forward onto his hand again, and Rhett noted how almost obscene the action was. His face was flushed, cheeks red with a blush that went up to his forehead, his pillowy lips spread apart. Rhett knew he must be completely delirious if he was finding it within himself to think about Link like that right now, with his throat on fire and stomach in agony. 

 

Link took his hand from his mouth and spit once more, a heave coming forth, but still empty. “ _ Dang  _ it.” he whispered, slipping both his pointer and middle finger into his mouth this time. 

 

He flinched forward as soon as he touched the back of his throat, and it was enough. Rhett winced as he heard the mouthful of bile hit the plastic lining. Link keened before the next gag, unaided by his fingers. He leaned away from the couch, gripping the trash can hard. Rhett could see a vein pulsing in his neck from the force of his heaves.

 

Rhett squirmed again, feet lifting from the floor a bit, listening to more liquid splash into Link’s bin. His stomach was swirling, his throat felt dry and wet at the same time, his jaw was going numb. Sweat was forming on his upper lip, trapped under his mustache no matter how roughly he swiped at his mouth to wipe it away. Every time Link gagged next to him, his body felt compelled to respond. Instead of bringing anything forth, his heaves just tightened the raw muscles in his throat. His skin was starting to feel to tight for his bones, and god he just wanted  _ out.  _ The only saving grace of this situation was the fact that his nostrils were already singed from the pepper, so his body didn’t have to respond to the smell of Link’s turmoil, only the sound. 

 

Link finally leaned back, wiping at his eyes and the corner of his mouth, sniffling his nose almost violently. He was panting heavily, but the breaths almost sounded relieved, as though he had expelled the fire, and Rhett had never in his life been so envious of his best friend. 

 

“It’s gonna fuckin’ burn comin’ back up, brother.” Link whispered, but his voice sounded placated, almost blissed out. 

 

Without giving himself any more time to think on it, Rhett reached up and shoved a finger down his throat. He tensed his knees to hold the bin between them, wrapping his other arm securely around his middle. The pressure of his finger did nothing other than make him cough, choking on nothing but air, the gasped lungfuls only hurting him more. Tears came to his eyes with the force of his coughs, but not even so much as a single gag came forth. Again, he tried, pressing his middle finger down on the back of his tongue, trying to emulate what Link had done earlier. An empty cough once more, and Rhett leaned forward with a fully formed sob. 

 

“Link, I  _ can’t.”  _ Rhett had never heard his own voice sound so small and pathetic. He  _ hurt  _ down to his very core and he felt sure he was never going to come out of this agony in one piece. His lower back was twisted and wracked with pain, stomach still feeling full of flames. Another sob fell from his lips on the tails of yet another empty gag. “ _ Link -” _

 

Rhett knew he was pleading with Link, begging him for something. He truly was not even sure what he wanted, what he was asking for. All he knew was that he  _ needed  _ the relief that Link had found, and that he didn’t care what he had to endure to get it. Anything was better than the torment assaulting his stomach. Rhett closed his eyes, tears squeezing and spilling out, and almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden pressure on the tops of his thighs, just behind his knees. 

 

“Okay, Rhett. Okay. You’re alright, brother.” Link whispered. His voice was still hoarse, still breathless, still abused. 

 

Rhett just shook his head, felt his hair falling to his forehead. 

 

( _ my hair goes down _ , his incoherent mind supplied him) 

 

“ ‘m not, I’m not okay, Link, I’m not.” Rhett knew he was rambling, words were falling out of his mouth in a constant stream. He felt untethered and panicked, completely exhausted and worn down. Nothing he had ever eaten in his career of eating weird things had  _ ever  _ made him feel like this. 

 

“Okay, man. I’m gonna help you.” Link said, and Rhett felt him moving closer. Link used the side of the couch to help hoist him up and he settled into the small amount of space beside Rhett. “You’re gonna hafta trust me though.” 

 

Link’s speech was still slightly slurred and he was still breathing harder than normal, but that didn’t stop him from putting his arm around Rhett’s shoulders. “Bo, do you trust me?” 

 

Rhett nodded, couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. Of course he trusted Link, and Link knew that. He reached in front of Rhett, between his legs, to grab his trash can. He placed it in Rhett’s hands and patted his shoulder. 

 

“Just hang on to that tight.” Link said, his drawl stronger than it usually was. 

 

Rhett complied, grasping onto the sides of the bin with both hands. He held it close to his stomach, praying the pressure would help in some small way. Link’s arm was still tight around Rhett’s shoulder, but his other hand slowly reached out and caressed against Rhett’s collarbone. It snaked up his neck and lingered at his jawline, fingers playing in Rhett’s beard for a moment. It calmed him just a bit, but it was enough. Almost. 

 

It was enough until Link’s fingers were at his mouth, pressing gently against his lips. Rhett tensed, clamped his mouth shut, squeezing his lips together. 

 

“You gotta open up if you want my help, Rhett. I’ve got you.” Link’s voice was nothing but a whisper. 

 

Rhett’s eyes grew wide, immediately knowing what Link was going to do to  _ help  _ him. This wasn’t what he wanted, even though he shouldn’t have been shocked. What else was there for him to do? What else was there that Link could do? 

 

“Link, n-” Before Rhett could finish speaking, Link’s fingers slid in, leaving him no room for complaint or protest. 

 

Rhett’s mouth was slick with thick saliva, hanging in ropes from his teeth and dripping in long strings from his lips now that his mouth was hanging open. Link’s practiced finger pressed down against Rhett’s tongue and travelled backward. One of Rhett’s hands flew from the bin and instinctively wrapped around Link’s wrist. 

 

“Relax, bo. This is gonna suck, but it’s gonna help.” Link encouraged him, and Rhett’s protest was nothing but a muffled moan. 

 

Link’s fingers were rocking back inside of Rhett’s mouth, tickling the back of his throat just slightly. It brought forth a gag. It was empty, but Rhett tugged on Link’s wrist regardless. Link held fast and brought his fingers forward once more, two more times in quick succession. The retch resulting was loud, tumultuous, and Rhett felt bile splash at the back of his throat. It  _ burned  _ and Rhett whined, one hand still wrapped around Link’s wrist, the other clutching to the trash can. Rhett was shaking trying to shake his head, trying to get Link’s hand  _ out  _ of his mouth. Instead, Link pressed into the top of Rhett’s throat  _ again  _ and this time the gag was productive. 

 

He gagged, deep and heavy, and brought up only a mouthful of stomach acid that barely wet Link’s palm. His fingers were now slicked, and slid back with little resistance. Rhett heaved properly this time, bile dripping from Link’s hand down his wrist, trailing warm over Rhett’s fingers. He let go, gagging again, arching his back and bringing up a solid stream of curdled milk and melted but undigested ice cream. Rhett clung to the rim of the trash can, grasping it so hard his knuckles went white. 

 

Color drained from his face now that the vomiting had truly begun. He heaved up another mouthful, and without time to even breathe in between, another. It was  _ painful  _ this time. It burned more coming up than going in, Rhett was sure of that. He was sure that if he looked, his vomit would be streaked with blood from a raw cracked throat, from a torn stomach lining, from something equally as painful and grotesque. 

 

He heard Link saying something to him, but he couldn’t make it out over the buzzing in his ears. All he could do was lean forward and unleash another wave of slurry that arced from his mouth forcefully into the bin. It rippled the plastic lining and Rhett could barely catch his breath before another heavy wave came forth. He could feel each and every chunk pepper pass through his lips again, chewed up but not digested, as though his body refused to even begin breaking down something so vile. 

He coughed around his next heave, spluttering and spitting hard into the bin. He could feel something else rising in his chest, and god he just wanted this to be  _ over.  _ He sobbed dejectedly into the trash, and he felt Link rub a practiced hand up his back, rubbing slightly at each notch of his spine. Rhett tried to relax, but just as he was, another heave burst forth. It torrented from his lips and never seemed to end, his stomach a faucet trying to flush out what had offended it so. 

 

Rhett spit after that violent heave and felt nothing else bubbling up in his gut. He felt utterly empty, such a foreign concept after suffering so long so painfully full. He panted, hard, and gagged emptily a few more times, listening to Link guide him through each dry heave. Exhausted, utterly spent, he leaned back heavily against the couch. 

 

It was over. 

 

It was finally over. 

 

His stomach still  _ hurt  _ and his throat was seared but it was a huge relief to have the pepper completely and entirely out of him. He sighed, moaned in what could have been ecstasy, what would have sounded obscene to an eavesdropped, and rested his sweaty head against Link’s shoulder. 

 

“I’m sorry, man. I know you didn’t want me to-”

 

“Thank you.” Rhett cut him off, voice still in tatters and completely breathless. He felt so much better he actually could have kissed Link if they hadn’t both spent the last hour of their lives vomiting violently. 

 

The time for kisses would come. 

 

Right now, it was time for both of them to find a bed and sleep the rest of the afternoon, and hopefully the rest of their hollow stomach aches, away. 

**Author's Note:**

> They talk about this particular instance around the 56 minute mark of the podcast. And they should know better than to say these things to me because it will cause me to go mad.


End file.
